Anna Akhmatova

Anna Akhmatova. White Flock.

We thought we were beggars, we thought we had nothing at all

But then when we started to lose one thing after another,

Each day became

A memorial day - And then we made songs

Of great divine generosity

And of our former riches.

x x x

I'll leave your quiet yard and your white house -

Let life be empty and with light complete.

I'll sing the glory to you in my verse

Like not one woman has sung glory yet.

And that dear girlfriend you remember

In heaven you created for her sight,

I'm trading product that is very rare -

I sell your tenderness and loving light.

Unification

So many stones have been thrown at me

That I don't fear them any longer

The trap an elegant tower has become,

Among tall towers, the taller.

I'm grateful to their builders - so be gone

Their sadness and their worry, go away,

Early from here I can see the dawn

And here triumphant lives the sun's last ray.

And frequently into my room's window

The winds from northern seas begin to blow

And pigeon from my palms eats wheat...

The pages that I did not complete

Divinely light she is and calm,

Will finish Muse's suntanned arm.

Song About Song

Like cold northwind

It'll sting at start,

And then a salty tear

Will wring the heart.

The evil heart will pity

Something and regret.

But this light-headed sorrow

It will not forget.

I only sow. To harvest.

Others will come. And yes!

Rejoicing hordes of harvesters

May true God bless.

And that more perfectly I could

Gratitude to thee give,

Allow me to give a gift

More permanent than love.

x x x

My voice is weak, but will does not get weaker.

It has become still better without love,

The sky is tall, the mountain wind is blowing

My thoughts are sinless to true God above.

The sleeplessness has gone to other places,

I do not on grey ashes count my sorrow,

And the skewed arrow of the clock face

Does not look to me like a deadly arrow.

How past over the heart is losing power!

Freedom is near. I will forgive all yet,

Watching, as ray of sun runs up and down

The springtime vine that with spring rain is wet.

x x x

He was jealous, fearful and tender,

He loved me like God's only light,

And that she not sing of the past times

He killed my bird colored white.

He said, in the lighthouse at sundown:

"Love me, laugh and write poetry!"

And I buried the joyous songbird

Behind a round well near a tree.

I promised that I would not mourn her.

But my heart turned to stone spite my choice,

And it seems to me that everywhere

And always I'll hear her sweet voice.

x x x

True love's memory, You are heavy!

In your smoke I sing and burn,

And the rest - is only fire

To keep the chilled soul warm.

To keep warm the sated body,

They need my tears for this

Did I for this sing your song, God?

Did I take part of love for this?

Let me drink of such a poison,

That I would be deaf and dumb,

And my unglorious glory

Wash away to the final crumb.

x x x

The blue lacquer dims of heaven,

And the song is better heard.

It's the little trumpet made of dirt,

There's no reason for her to complain.

Why does she forgive me,

And whoever told her of my sins?

Or is that this voice that now repeats

The last poems that you wrote for me?

x x x

Instead of wisdom - experience, bare,

That does not slake thirst, is not wet.

Youth's gone - like a Sunday prayer..

Is it mine to forget?

On how many desert roads have searched I

With him who wasn't dear for me,

How many bows gave in church I

For him, who had well loved me.

I've become more oblivious, I am finding,

Quietly years swim.

Lips unkissed, eyes unsmiling -

Nothing will give me back him.

x x x

Ah! It is you again. You enter in this house

Not as a kid in love, but as a husband

Courageous, harsh and in control.

The calm before the storm is fearful to my soul.

You ask me what it is that I have done of late

With given unto me forever love and fate.

I have betrayed you. And this to repeat -

Oh, if you could one moment tire of it!

The killer's sleep is haunted, dead man said,

Death's angel thus awaits me at deathbed.

Forgive me now. Lord teaches to forgive.

In burning agony my flesh does live,

And already the spirit gently sleeps,

A garden I recall, tender with autumn leaves

And cries of cranes, and the black fields around..

How sweet it would be with you underground!

x x x

The muse has left along narrow

And winding street,

And with large drops of dew

Were sprinkled her feet.

For long did I ask of her

To wait for winter with me,

But she said, "The grave is here,

How can you breathe, you see?"

I wanted to give her a dove

That is whiter than all the rest

But the bird herself flew above

After my graceful guest.

Looking at her I was silent,

I loved her alone

And like gates into her country

In the sky stood the dawn.

x x x

I have ceased and desisted from smiling

The frosty wind chills lips - say so long

To one hope of which will be lesser,

Instead there will be one more song.

And this song, without my volition,

I will give out for laughter and parable,

For this that the silence of love

Is to me simply unbearable.

x x x

They're on the way, the words of love and freedom,

They're flying faster than the moment flies

And I am in stage fright before singing -

My lips have grown colder than ice.

But soon that place, where, leaning to the windows

The tender birches make dry rustling sound,

The voices will be ringing of the shadows

And roses will in blackened wreaths be wound.

And further onward still - the light is generous

Unbearably as though 't were red hot wine..

And now the wind, all redolent and heated,

In perfect vigor has enflamed my mind.

x x x

Oh, this was a cold day

In Peter's wonderful town!

The shadow grew dense, and the sundown

Like purple fire lay.

Only my breast you touched,

Like poets touched the lyre,

To hear the brief answers

To the demanding "I love!"

Let him not want my eyes fair

Prophetic and never-changing

All life long verse he'll be catching -

My conceited lips' empty prayer.

x x x

This way I prayed: "Slake the dumb thirst

Of singing with a sweet libation!"

But to the earthling of the earth

There can be no liberation.

Like smoke from sacrifice, that it could not

Fly Strength- and Glory-ward - alas -

But only clouded at the feet

And, as if praying, kissed the grass.

Thus I, O Lord, before thee bow:

Will reach the fire of the sky

My lashes that are closed for now

And muteness utter and divine?

x x x

In intimacy there exists a line

That can't be crossed by passion or love's art -

In awful silence lips melt into one

And out of love to pieces bursts the heart.

And friendship here is impotent, and years

Of happiness sublime in fire aglow,

When soul is free and does not hear

The dulling of sweet passion, long and slow.

Those who are striving toward it are in fever,

But those that reach it struck with woe that lingers.

Now you have finally fathomed, why forever

Her heart does not beat underneath your fingers.

x x x

All has been taken: strength as well as love.

Into the unloved town the corpse is thrown.

It does not love the sun. I fear, that blood

Inside of me already cold has grown.

I do not recognize sweet Muse's loving taste:

She looks ahead and does not let a word pass,

And bows a head in the dark garland dressed

Onto my chest, exhausted from the haste.

And only conscience, scarier with each day,

Wants a great ransom and for this abuses.

Closing the face, I answer her this way..

But there remain no tears and no excuses.

x x x

To lose the freshness of the words and sense, for us,

Is it same as for an artist to lose vision,

Or for an actor - voice and motion,

Or for a gorgeous woman - her finesse?

But do not seek now for yourself to keep

What heaven has given to you below:

We have been judged - and we ourselves both know -

To give away, and not to keep.

Or else alone you go to heal the blind,

To know yourself in heavy hour of doubt

The students' smug shaudenfreude

And the uncaring of mankind.

Answer

The quiet April day has sent me

What an unusual, strange missive.

You knew that passionately in me

The scary week is still alive.

I did not hear those ringing bells

That swam along in glazier clear.

For seven days sounded copper laugh

Or poured from eyes a silver tear.

And I, then having closed my face

As for eternal parting's moment,

Lay down and waited for her grace

That was not known yet as torment.

x x x

This city by the fearsome river

Was my crib blessed and dear

And a solemn wedding bed

Which the garlands for the head

Your young cherubs held above -

A city loved with bitter love.

The subject of my prayers

Were you, moody, calm, and austere.

There first the groom came to me

Having shown me the pathway holy,

And that sad muse of mine

Led me like one blind.

December 9, 1913

The darkest days of the year

Must become the most clear.

I can't find words to compare -

Your lips are so tender and dear.

Only to raise your eyes do not dare,

Keeping the life of me.

They're lighter than vials premier,

And deadlier for me.

I understand now, that we need no words,

The snowed branches are light, and more,

The birdcatcher, to catch birds,

Has laid nets on the rivershore.

x x x

How can you look at Nieva,

How can on the bridges you rise?

For a reason I'm sad since the time

You appeared before my eyes.

Sharp are black angels' wings,

The last judgment is coming soon,

And raspberry fires, like roses,

In the white snow bloom.

x x x

I do not count mortal days

Under the roof of a chilled empty building,

I'm reading the Apostles' words,

Words of Psalm-singer I am reading.

Sleet is fluffy, and stars turn blue,

And more marvelous is each meeting -

And in the Bible a leaf

On the Song of Songs is sitting.

x x x

All year long you are close to me

And, like formerly, happy and young!

Aren't you tortured already

By the traumatized strings' dark song?

Those now only lightly moan

That once, taut, loudly rang

And aimlessly they are torn

By my dry, waxen hand.

Little is necessary to make happy

One who is tender and loving, yet

The young forehead is not disfigured

By jealousy, rage or regret.

He is quiet, does not ask to be tender,

Only stares and stares at me

And with blissful smile does he bear

My oblivion's dreadful insanity.

x x x

Black road wove ahead of me,

Drizzling rain fell,

To accompany me

Someone asked for a spell.

I agreed, but I forgot

To see him in light of day,

And then it was strange

To remember the way.

Like incense of thousand censers

Flowed the fog

And the companion bothered

The heart with a song.

Ancient gates I remember

And the end of the way -

There the man who went with me

"Forgive," did say.

He gave me a copper cross

Like my brother very own

And everywhere I hear the sound

Of the steppe song.

Here I am at home like home -

I cry and I am in rue

Answer to me, my stranger,

I am looking for you!

x x x

How I love, how I loved to stare

At the ironclad shores,

On the balcony, where forever

No foot stepped, not mine, not yours.

And in truth you are - a capital

For the mad and luminous us;

But when over Nieva sail

Those special, pure hours

And the winds of May fly over

You past the iron beams

You are like a dying sinner

Seeing heavenly dreams.

x x x

Ancient city is as if dead,

Strange's my coming here.

Vladimir has raised a black cross

Over the river.

Noisy elm trees, noisy lindens

In the gardens dark,

Raised to God, the needle-bearing

Stars' bright diamond sparks.

Sacrificial and glorious Way,

I am ending here,

With me is but you, my equal,

And my love so dear.

x x x

It seems as though the voice of man

Will never sound in this place,

But only wind from age of stone

Is knocking on black gates.

It seems to me that I alone

Have kept good health under this sky,

Because of this, that first I sought

To drink the deadly wine.

Parting

Evening and slanting,

Downward goes my way.

Yesterday in love still,

"Don't forget" you prayed.

Now there's only shepherds'

Cry, and glancing winds,

And the worried cedars

Stand by clear springs.

x x x

Yellow and fresh are the lanterns,

Black is the road of the garden at sea.

I am very calm. Only please, do not

Talk about him with me.

You're tender and loyal, we'll be friends...

Have fun, kiss, together grow old...

And light months above us will fly like feathers,

Like stars made of snow and as cold.

x x x

We aren't in the forest, there is no need for calling -

You know your jokes do not shine...

Why don't you come to lull into quiet

This wounded conscience of mine?

You possess other worries

You have another wife

And, looking into my dry eyes,

St. Petersburg spring has arrived.

With harsh cough and with evening fever

She will punish and she will murder.

Under the smoke on the river

Nieva's ice is still no longer.

x x x

God is unkind to gardeners and reapers.

Slanted rain coils and falls from up high

And the wide raincoats catch water,

That once had reflected the sky.

In underwater realm are fields and meadows

And the free currents sing a lot,

Plums rupture on bloated branches

And grass strands, lying down, rot.

And through the dense and watery net

I see your darling face,

A quiet park, a round porch

And a Chinese arbour-place.

x x x

All promised him to me:

The heaven's edge, dark and kind,

And lovely Christmas sleep

And multi-ringing Easter wind,

And the red branches of a twig,

And waterfalls inside a park,

And two dragonflies

On rusty iron of a bulwark.

And I could not disbelieve,

That he'll befriend me today

When on the mountain slopes I went

Along hot stone pathway.

x x x

Every evening I receive

Letter like a bride

To my dear friend I give

Response late at night.

"I'll be guest of the white death

On my journey down.

You, my tender one, don't do

Harm to anyone."

And there stands a giant star

Between two wood beams,

With such calmness promising

To fulfil your dreams.

x x x

Divine angel, who betrothed us

Secretly on winter morn,

From our sadness-free existence

Does not take his darkened eyes.

For this reason we love heavens,

And fresh wind, and air so thin,

And the dark tree branches

Behind iron fence.

Therefore we love the strict,

Many-watered, and dark city,

And we love the parting,

And brief meetings' hour.

x x x

Somewhere it's light and happy, there's elation,

Transparent, warm and simple life there is.

A man across the fence has conversation

With girl before the evening, and the bees

Hear only the tenderest of conversation.

And we are living pompously and hard

And follow bitter rituals like sun

When, flight past us, the unreasoned wind

Interrupts speech that's barely begun.

But not for anything will we change the pompous

Granite city of glory, pain and lies,

The glistening wide rivers' ice

Sunless and murky gardens, and the voice,

Though barely audible, of the Muse.

x x x

I remember you only rarely

And your fate I do not review

But the mark won't be stripped from my soul

Of the meaningless meeting with you.

Your red house I avoid on purpose,

Your red house murky river beside,

But I know, that I am disturbing

Gravely your heart-pierced respite.

Would it weren't you that, on my lips pressing,

Prayed of love, and for love did wish,

Would it weren't you that with golden verses

Immortalized my anguish

Over future I do secret magic

If the evening is truly blue,

And I divine a second meeting,

Unavoidable meeting with you.

x x x

How spacious are these squares,

How resonant bridges and stark!

Heavy, peaceful, and starless

Is the covering of the dark.

And we walk on the fresh snow

As if we were mortal people.

That we are together this hour

Unseparable - is it not a miracle?

The knees go unwittingly weaker

It seems there's no air - so long!

You are my life's only blessing,

You are the sun of my song.

Now the dark buildings are stirring

And I'll fall on earth as they shake -

Inside of my village garden

I do not fear to awake.

Escape

"My dear, if we could only

Reach all the way to the seas"

"Be quiet" and descended the stairs

Losing breath and looking for keys.

Past the buildings, where sometime

We danced and had fun and drank wine

Past the white columns of Senate

Where it's dark, dark again.

"What are you doing, you madman!"

"No, I am only in love with thee!

This evening is wide and noisy,

Ship will have lots of fun at the sea!"

Horror tightly clutches the throat,

Shuttle took us at dusk on our turn...

The tough smell of ocean tightrope

Inside trembling nostrils did burn.

"Say, you most probably know:

I don't sleep? Thus in sleep it can be"

Only oars splashed in measured manner

Over Nieva's waves heavy.

And the black sky began to get lighter,

Someone called from the bridge to us,

As with both hands I was clutching

On my chest the rim of the cross.

On your arms, as I lost all my power,

Like a little girl you carried me,

That on deck of a yacht white-colored

Incorruptible day's light we'd meet.

x x x

When with a strong but tired hand

In dreary capital of nation

Upon the whiteness of the page

I did record my recantations,

And wind into the window round

Poured in a wet and silent stream

The sky was burning, burning bright

With smoky dawn, it did so seem.

I did not look at the Nieva,

The dawn-drenched granite did not view,

And it appeared that that I, awake, my

Unforgettable, saw you...

But then the unexpected night

Covered the before-autumn town,

That, so as to assist my flight,

The ashen shadows melted down.

I only took with me the cross,

That you had given on day of treason

That wormwood steppe should be in bloom

And winds, like sirens, sing in season.

And here upon an empty wall

He keeps me from the broodings dour

And I don't fear to recall

Anything - even the final hour.

Village of the Tsar Statue

Upon the swan pond maple leaves

Are fully gathered already,

And bloodied are the branches dark

Of slowly blooming quicken-tree.

Blindingly elegant is she,

Crossing her legs that don't feel cold

Upon the northern stone sits she

And calmly looks upon the road.

I felt the gloomy, dusky fear

Before this woman of delight

As on her shoulders played alone

The rays of miserable light.

And how could I forgive her yet

Your shining praise by love deluded

Look, she is happily in rue,

And so well-dressedly denuded.

x x x

In the sleep to me is given

Our last eden of stars up high

City of clean water towers,

Golden Bakchisarai

There behind a colored fencing

By the pensive water stalled

Gardens of the Tsar's Village

With rejoicing we recalled.

And the eagles of Catherine

Suddenly recognized - it's that!

He had flown to valley bottom

From the ornate bronze-clad gate.

That the song of parting heartache

In the memory longer lives,

The dark-bodied mother autumn

Brought to me the reddening leaves

And she sprinkled on her soles

Where we parted in the sun

And from where for land of shades

You had left, my soothing one.

x x x

I have visions of hilly Pavlovsk,

Meadow circular, water dead,

With most heavy and most shady,

All of this I will never forget.

In the cast-iron gates you will enter,

Blissful tremor the flesh does rile,

You don't live, but you're screaming and ranting

Or you live in another style.

In late autumn fresh and biting

Wanders wind, for its loneliness glad.

In white gowns dressed, the black fir trees

On the molten snow stand.

And, filled up with a burning fever,

Dear voice sounds like song without word,

And on copper shoulder of Cytharus

Sits the red-chested bird.

x x x

Immortelle's dry and pink. on the fresh heaven

The clouds are roughly pasted, almost dark.

The leaves of only oak within the park

Are still remaining colorless and thin.

The rays of dusk until midnight are burning.

How nice it is inside my cramped abode!

Today with me converse many-a-bird

About the most tender, loving things.

I'm happy, very happy. But the way,

Forest and smooth, is to me most dear,

The crippled bridge, curved a bit here,

And that remain only several days.

x x x

She came up. I did not show my worry,

Calmly looking outside the windows.

She sat down, like ceramic idol

In a long-ago-chosen pose.

To be happy - is well-accustomed,

But attentive - is harder just might.

Or the dark shadow has been overpowered

After many a jasmine March night?

Tiring din of the conversations,

Yellow chandelier's lifeless light

And the glimmer of crafty gadgets

Underneath the arm raised and light.

My companion looks at her with hope

And to her flashes a smile...

O my happy and wealthy heir,

Read from my will.

III

May Snow

Upon fresh ground falls and melts

At once unnoticed a thin film.

The harsh and chilly spring

The ripened buds does kill.

Sight of early death is so horrid

That I can't look at God's creation, and am riven

With sadness, to which king David

Millenia of life has given.

x x x

Why do you pretend to be

A wind, a bird, or a stone?

Why do you smile at me

From the sky with a sudden dawn?

Do not torment me, do not touch!

Leave me to wise cares, away!

The inebriated flame sways

Over dried-up marshes gray.

And Muse in a torn kerchief

Sings disconsolate and at length.

In harsh and youthful anguish

Is her miraculous strength.

x x x

Transparent glass of empty sky

The bleached-out bulky prison building

And churchgoers' solemn singing

Over Volkhov, growing blue with light.

September wind tore birch leaves off

Through branches tossed and screamed with hate

And city recollects its fate:

Here ruled Martha and Arackcheyev.

July 1914

Smells like burning. For four weeks now

The dry ground on the swamplands bakes.

Today even birds did not sing songs

And the aspen-tree does not shake.

Sun has stopped in divine displeasure

Easter rain did not pelt fields hard.

A one-legged passerby came here

And alone said in the yard:

"Awful times near. For freshly dug graves

There will be not be enough place soon.

Expect pest, expect plague, expect war,

And eclipses of Sun and Moon.

But the enemy won't get to divide

Our lands for his fun:

Holy Mary will spread on her own

Over great sorrows a white gown."

From the burning forests is flying

Sweet smell of the evergreens.

Over children soldiers' wives are moaning

Cry of widows through village rings.

Not in vain were the prayers rendered,

The earth was thirsty for rain:

The stomped-over fields with red dampness

Were covered and covered remain.

Low, low is the empty heaven,

And quiet is the praying one's voice:

"They will wound your most holy body

And cast dice about your evil acts."

x x x

That voice, with great quietude arguing,

Had a victory over her.

In me still, like song or woe,

Is last winter before the war.

She was whiter than Smolny Cathedral

More mysterious than summer garden at noon

We didn't know that in parting sadness

We'd be looking back soon.

x x x

To say goodbye we don't know -

It's already nearing night,

We are walking shoulder to shoulder,

You are pensive and I am quiet

We'll walk into church, we'll witness

The singing, the wedding, the cross,

Not seeing each other, we'll exit....

Why are things not working for us?

Or we'll sit on the pressed-down snow

In a cemetery, lightly sigh,

And you with your stick paint the palace

Where together we'll be for all time.

Consolation

\You won't hear about him any longer,

You won't hear about him in the wind,

In the mournful fire-consumed Poland

His grave you will not find.

May your spirit be still and peaceful,

There will be no losses now:

He is new warrior of God's army,

Do not be about him in sorrow.

In the dear, beloved home

It's sinful to cry and feel blue.

Think, now you can make prayer

To the man who stood up for you.

x x x

Did for this, and for this only,

In my arms I carry you,

Did for this the strength of will flash

In your gorgeous eyes of blue?

Tall and elegant you've grown,

You sang songs, Madeira drank,

To the far-off Anatolia

You have driven your mine tank.

On the Malahov's kurgan

They shot an officer with a gun.

Less than a week for 20 years

He saw God's light with eyes so dear.

Prayer

Give me bitter years in malady

Breathlessness, sleeplessness, fever,

Both a friend and a child and mysterious

Gift take away forever -

Thus I pray after your liturgy

After many exhausting days,

That the cloud over dark Russia

Become cloud in the glory of rays.

x x x

"Where is your gypsy boy, tall one,

That over black kerchief did weep,

Where is your small first child

What memory of him do you keep?"

"Mother's role is a sweet torture,

I was not worthy of it.

The gate dissolved into white heaven,

Magdalene took the kid.

"Each day for me is happy and jolly,

I got lost in a too-long spring,

Only arms pine away for a burden

Only his cries in my sleep ring.

"The heart will be restless and weary

And no memory cross my mind,

I still wander in rooms dark and bleary

And his crib still attempt to find."

x x x

How often did I curse

This sky, this earth as well,

The slowly waving arms

Of this ancient windmill.

In a wing there lies a dead man,

Straight and grayhaired, on a bench,

As he did three years ago.

Thus the mice whet with their teeth

Books, and thus the stearine candle

Leans its flame to the left.

And the odious tambourine

From the Nizhny Novgorod

Sings an uningenious song

Of my bitter happiness.

And the brightly painted

Dahlias stood straight

Along silver road.

Where are snails and wormwood.

Thus it was: Incarceration

Became second country,

And the first I cannot dare

Recollect even in prayer.

x x x

In boat or in horsecart

This way you cannot go

Deep water stands and lingers

In the decrepit snow

Surrounding the mansion

From every side by now...

Ah! Closely wails it over

The same Robinson Crusoe.

The sled, the skies, the horse

He will come by to see,

And later on the couch

He sits and waits for me

And tears the rug in two

With a short, little spore.

Now the brief smile of mine

Will never view the mirror.

x x x

Bow of moon I see, I see

Through dense canopy of groves,

Level sound I hear, I hear

Of the free horse's hooves.

What? And you don't want to sleep,

In a year could you forget

Me, nor are you used to find

Empty and unmade your bed?

Not with you then do I speak

Through sharp cries of hunting birds,

Not in your eyes do I look

From white pages full of words?

Why you circle, like a thief At the quiet habitat?

Or recall the verdict and Wait for me alive like that?

I'm asleep. In dense dark, moon

Threw a blade just like a dart.

There is knocking. In this way

Beats my warm and precious heart.

x x x

We noiselessly walked through the house,

Not waiting for anything.

They showed me way to the sick man,

And I did not recognize him.

He said, "Now let God have the glory"

And became more thoughtful and blue.

"It's long time that I hit the road,

I've only been waiting for you.

So you bother me in my fever,

I keep those words from you.

Tell me: can you not forgive me?"

And I said, "I can do."

It seemed, that the walls were shining

From floor to the ceiling that day.

Upon the silken blanket

A withered arm lay.

And the thrown-over predatory profile

Became horribly heavy and stark,

And one could not hear the breathing

Through the bitten-up lips turned dark.

But suddenly the last bit of strength

Came alive in the eyes of blue:

"It is good that you released me,

Not always kind were you."

And then the face became younger,

And I recognized him once more.

And then I said, "Holy Father,

Accept a slave of yours."

x x x

I came over to the pine forest.

It is hot, and not short is the way.

He pushed back the door and came out

Luminous, short, hair - grey.

He looked at me insolently

And muttered at once, "Christ's bride!

Do not envy success of the happy,

A place for you there does hide.

Do forget your parents' abode,

Get accustomed to open heaven

You will sleep on the straw and dirty,

And will meet a blissful end."

Truly, the priest must have heard

On the way back my singing voice

As I of untold happiness

Marveled and I rejoiced.

x x x

The other cranes shout "Cour-lee"

Calling a wounded one

When autumn fields around

Are fallow and warm.

And I, being sick, hear calling,

The noise of golden wings

From dense and low clouds

And underbrush very thick.

"It's time to fly, it's time to fly,

Over river and field.

For you already cannot sing

And wipe a tear from a cheek

With an arm weakened."

x x x

I will quietly in the churchyard

Sleep on plywood in the sun,

On the Sunday, guest to mother

You will come, my dear one -

Through the river over the mountain

Can't catch up to grown ones

From afar, the sharp-eyed fellow,

This my cross you'll recognize.

I know, dear one, very little

Can you now recall of me:

Did not scold you, did not fawn you,

Did not hold the cup to thee.

x x x

With pride your spirit is darkened

For this you won't know world at all.

You say that this faith is a dream

And mirage is this capital.

You say that my country is sinful,

Your country is godless, I scream.

May the guilt still lie upon us -

We can correct and redeem.

Around you are water and flowers

Why seek a beggar and sinner, my dear?

I know that you're sick very badly:

You seek death and the end you fear.

x x x

The early chills are most pleasant to me.

Torment releases me when I come there.

Mysterious, dark places of habitation -

Are storehouses of labor and of prayer.

The calm and confident loving

I can't surmount in this side of mine:

A drop of Nizhny Novgorod blood inside me

Is like a piece of ice in foamy wine.

And this can not in any way be corrected,

She has not yet been melted by great heat,

And whate'er it is I began to glory -

You, quiet one, do shine before me yet.

x x x

I dream less of him, dear God be gloried,

Does not glimmer everywhere any more.

Fog has fallen on the whitened road,

Shadows run over water to the shore.

All day long the ringing did not quiet

Over the expanse of ploughed up soil,

Here with greatest force away from Jonah

Distant Laurel belltowers do recoil.

I am trimming on the lilac bushes

Branches, that are now in full flower;

Ramparts of ancient fortifications

Two old monks are slowly walking over.

Dear world, understood and corporeal,

For me, one unseeing, set alive.

Heal this soul of mine, the King of Heaven,

With the icy comfort of not love.

x x x

We'll be with each other, dear,

All now know we are together,

And the wily laughs and putdowns

Like a distant tambourine

Can't insult us any longer

And can't give us injury.

Where we married - we don't know,

But this church at once did glimmer

With that furious beaming light

That only the angels know

How to bring upon white wings.

And the time is now such,

Fearful city, fearful year.

How can now be parted

Me from you and you from me?

In Memory of June 19, 1914

We have grown old by hundred years, and this

Happened to us in one hour then:

The brief summer was already ending,

Steamed the body of ploughed-up plain.

Suddenly glistened the quiet road,

Cry flew, ringing silverly...

Closing my face, I was praying to God

Before first battle to murder me.

From mind the shades of songs and passions

Disappeared like load from misuse.

To her - descended - the Almighty ordered

To be the fearful book of menacing news.

x x x

Before the spring arrives there are such days:

Under the thick snow cover rests the lawn,

The dry-and-jolly trees are making noise,

Tender and strong, the wind is warm.

And body is amazed at its own lightness,

And your own home is alien to you,

And song that had just previously been tiring

Excitedly you're singing just like new.

x x x

The fifth time of the year,

Only the praise of his.

Breathe with the final freedom,

Because love is this.

The sky has flown up high,

The objects' contours are light,

And the body does not celebrate any longer

The anniversary of its plight.

x x x

I myself have freely chosen

Fate of the friend of my heart:

To the freedom under gospel

I allowed him to depart.

And the pigeon came back, beating

On the window with all might

Like from shine of divine restments,

In the room it became light.

Dream

I know that you dreamed of me,

That's why I could not sleep.

The muddy light had turned blue

And showed me the path to keep.

You saw the queen's garden,

White palace, luxurious one,

And the black patterned fence

Before resounding stone perron.

You went, not knowing the way,

And thinking, "Faster, faster!

If only to find her now,

Not wake before meeting her."

And the janitor at the red gate

Shouted at you, "Where to, alack!"

The ice crackled and broke,

Underfoot, water went black.

"This is the lake, and inside

There's an island," thus thought you.

And then suddenly from the dark

Appeared a fire hot-blue.

Awakening, you did moan

In harsh light of a nasty day,

And then at once you called

For me loudly by my name.

White House

Sun is frosty. In a parade

Soldiers march with all might.

I am glad at the January noon,

And my fear's very light.

Here they remember each branch

And every silhouette.

Raspberry light is dripping

Through a snow-whitened net.

Almost white was the house,

Made of glass was the wing.

How many times with numb arm

Did I hold the doorbell's ring.

How many times... play, soldiers,

I'll make my house, I'll espy

You from a roof that's inclined,

From the ivy that does not die.

But who at last did remove it,

Took away into foreign lands

Or took out from the memory

Forever the road thence...

Snow flies, like a cherry blossom,

Distant bagpipes desist...

And, it seems, nobody knows

That the white house does not exist.

x x x

He walked over fields and over village,

And he asked the people from afar:

"Where is she, where is the happy glimmer

Of her eyes that seem to be gray stars?"

Here the final days of spring

Come along, in turbid fire.

Still more frequent, still more tender

Are the dreams I have of her."

And he came in the dark city

In the quiet evening time

He was thinking then of Venice

And of London all the same.

At the church both tall and dark

Stepped on shining stairs' granite

And he prayed then of the coming

Meeting with his first delight.

And above the altar made of gold

Flamed away the garden of God's rays:

"Here she is, here is the happy glimmer

Of gray joyous stars that are her eyes."

x x x

Wide and yellow's evening light,

Tender is the April chill,

You are late by many years

But I am glad of you still.

Come and sit right next to me,

With the happy eyes come look:

Here, my childhood poetry

Is in this blue notebook.

That I lived rueful and little

Was glad of the sun, forgive.

And forgive, that in your stead I

Many others did receive.

x x x

Whether to look for you on earth -

I don't know if you're dead or you live -

Or about you in the evening

I should for you, departed, grieve.

All is for you: and the daily prayer

And the sleeplessness' swooning flame

And the white flock of my poems

And my eyes' blue violent flame.

No one was dearer to me, no one,

No one left me this bereft,

Not even he who betrayed me to torment,

Not even he who caressed, then left.

x x x

No, my prince, I am not the one

On whom you'd rather lay your eyes,

And for long these lips of mine

Do not kiss, but prophesize.

Do not think I'm in delirium

Or with boredom I do whine

Loudly I speak of pain:

It's the very trade of mine.

And I know how to teach,

That the unexpected happened,

How to tame for centuries

Her, whose love is so rapid.

You want glory? Ask from me

For advice for this your plight,

Only it is but a trap,

There's no joy here and no light.

Well, return home, and forget

This our meeting, I implore,

And for your sin, dear one,

I'll respond before the Lord.

x x x

From memory of you I will remove that day,

So that your helpless-foggy look ask this:

Where did I see the Persian lilac bush,

The swallows and the wooden house?

Oh, yet how often will you recollect

The sudden angst of the desires uncalled

And in the pensive cities you did seek

That street which was not on the map at all!

To sound of voice behind an open door,

At sight of every accidental letter,

You will remember: "Here has she herself

Come to assist my doubt all the better."

x x x

Did not scold me, did not praise me,

Like friends and like enemies.

Only left his soul to me

And then said, "Now keep in peace."

And one thing worries me so:

If this moment he will die,

God's archangel will come to me

For his soul from the sky.

How then will I hide her so,

How to hide it from God's eyes?

She, the soul, that cries and sings so

Must be in His paradise.

x x x

My shadow has remained there and is angstful,

In that blue room she to this day lives,

She waits for guests from city beyond midnight

And to enamel image gives a kiss.

And things are not quite well around the house:

It still is dark, although they lit the flame...

Not from all this the hostess is in boredom,

Not from all this the host drinks all the same

And hears how on the other side of wall so thin

The guest that has arrived now talks to me?

x x x

I see capital through the flurry

On this Monday night twenty-first.

Some do-nothing has made up the story

That love exists on the earth.

And from laziness or from boredom

All believed, and thus they do live:

Waiting for meeting, fearing the parting,

And singing songs of love.

But to others opens a secret

And upon them descends a still...

I by accident came upon this

And since then am as if I'm ill.

x x x

On the blooming lilac bushes

Sky is sowing the light rain.

Beats with wings upon the window

The white, the white Spirits' day.

For a friend to be returning

From the sea - especial hour.

I am dreaming of the far shore,

Of the stone, sand and tower.

I will enter, meeting light,

On the top of one of these.

In the land of swamps and fields

There're no towers in memory.

Only I'll sit on the porch,

There, where the dense shadows lay.

Help me in my fright, at last,

The white, the white Spirits' day.

x x x

I know, that you are my reward

For years of labor and of pain,

For that unto the earthly pleasures

I never did myself betray,

For that I never ever told

Unto my loved one, "You are loved."

For that I did forgive all people

You'll be my angel from above.

x x x

Yes, I had loved those meetings of the nights -

Upon small table a glass filled with ice,

Above black coffee thick and smelly steam,

From the red heater heavy winter heat,

The stinging mirth of literary parable

And first look of the friend, helpless and terrible.

x x x

Not mystery and not sadness,

Not the wise will of fate -

These meetings have always given

Impression of fight and hate.

And I, having guessed your coming's

Minute and circumstance,

In the bent arms the slightly

Tingling feeling did sense.

And with dry fingers I mangled

The colorful tablecloth...

I understood even then

How small was this earth.

To my dear one

Do not send a dove in my direction,

Do not write tumultuous notes at all,

Do not fan my face with the March breeze.

I have now entered a green heaven,

Where there's calm for body and for soul

Underneath the shady maple trees.

And from here I can see a town,

Booths and barracks of a palace made of stone

Chinese yellow bridge over the ice.

For three hours now you wait for me - you're frozen,

But you cannot move from the perron,

At the stars you marvel with your eyes.

Like a gray squirrel you'll jump on the alder,

Like a frightful swallow I will go,

I will then call for you like a swan,

So that the bridegroom would not fear

In the blue and swirling falling snow

To await his deceased bride alone.

x x x

Has my fate really been so altered,

Or is this game truly truly over?

Where are winters, when I fell asleep

In the morning in the sixth hour?

In a new way, severely and calmly,

I now live on the wild shore.

I can no longer pronounce

The tender or idle word.

I can't believe that Christmas-tide's coming.

Touchingly green is this the steppe before

The beaming sun. Like a warm

Wave, licks the tender shore.

When from happiness languid and tired

I was, then of such quiet,

Inexpressibly trembling, I dreamed

And in my imagining this I deemed

The postmortal travels of the soul.

x x x

Like a white stone at bottom of the well,

One memory, one memory lies in me.

I cannot and I do not want to struggle,

It is true joy and it is suffering.

I think that anyone who looks into my

Eyes immediately will see him.

More sad and pensive he will then become

That heard the story of this suffering.

I also know that the gods had turned

People to objects, without killing mind,

That divine sadness lived eternally.

You're turned into my memory, I find.

x x x

The first ray - as the blessing of the Lord -

Across the face of the beloved did creep,

Who, sleeping, went a little pale,

And then again more tightly went to sleep.

It seemed that warmth of ray of sun

Appeared unto his vision like a kiss...

And long with these my lips I have not touched

The tan strong shoulder or the dear lips.

And now, the deceased spirits in my long

Disconsolate wandering along the way,

I am now flying toward him as a song

And I caress him with a morning ray.

x x x

Not thus, from cursed lightness having disembarked,

I look with worry on the chambers dark?

Already used to ringing high and raw,

Already judged not by the earthly law,

I, like a criminal, am being drawn along

To place of shame and execution.

I see the glorious city, and the voice most dear,

As though there is no secret grave to fear,

Where day and night, in heat and in cold bent,

I must await the Final Judgment.

x x x

I was born not late and not early,

This time is blessed and meet,

Only God did not allow a heart

To live long without deceit.

And from this it is dark in the light room,

And from this do the friends I've sought,

Like the sorrowful birds of evening,

Sing of love that was not.

x x x

Best for me loudly the gaming-poems to say

, And for you the hoarse harmonica to play!

And having left, hugging, for the night of late,

Lose a band from a stiff, tight plait.

Best for me your child to rock and sway,

And for you to make fifty rubles in a day,

And to go on memory day to cemetery

There to look upon the white God's lilac tree.

x x x

I will lead a man to the dear one -

I don't wish for the little joy -

And I'll quietly lay to sleep

The glad, tired little boy.

In a chilly room once again

I will pray to the Mother of God,

It is hard to be a recluse,

To be happy is also hard.

Only fiery sleep will come to me,

I'll enter a temple on the hill,

Five-domed, white, and stone-hewn,

On the paths remembered well.

x x x

The spring was still mysteriously swooning,

Across the hills wandered transparent wind

And the deep lake was growing blue among us -

A temple forged and kept not by mankind.

You were affrighted of our first encounter,

And prayed already for the second one,

And now today once more is the hot evening -

How low over the mountain dropped the sun...

You aren't with me, but this is not a parting:

For me triumphant news is in each moment.

I know that you can't even pronounce a word

For so complete within you is the torment.

x x x

In Kievan temple of the divine wisdom

Falling to knees, I before thee did vow

That your way will be my way

Wherever, wherever it will go.

Thus heard Yaroslav in a white coffin

And angels made of gold in his stead.

Like pigeons, weave the simple words

And are now near the sunny heads.

If I get weak, I dream of an icon

And ten steps on it, all are blessed.

In menacing voice of the Sofian ringing

I hear the sound of your unrest.

x x x

City vanished, the last house's window

Stared like one living and stark...

This place is totally unfamiliar,

Smells of burning, and field is dark.

But when the curtain of thunder

Moon had cut, indecisive and wan,

We could see: On the hill, to the forest,

Hobbled a handicapped man.

It was frightening, that he's overcoming

The three horses, sated and glad,

He stood up and then again waddled

Under his heavy load.

We had almost failed to notice him

Before the nomad-tent taking his place.

Just like stars the blue eyes were shining,

Lighting the tormented face.

And I proffered to him the child,

Raising arms with the trace of a chain

He pronounced with joy and with ringing:

"May your son live and healthy remain."

x x x

Oh, there are unrepeated words,

Whoe'er said them wasted more than he should.

Inexhaustible only is the blue

Of sky and generosity of God.

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